


Another Danger Night

by geometricant_01



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, drug mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geometricant_01/pseuds/geometricant_01
Summary: Sherlock is having a Danger Night and calls upon John for comfort/support





	

**Author's Note:**

> I suck for not updating my other fic in so long but heres some angst mixed with fluff

_I promised John._

The last coherent thought before Sherlock found himself at Russel Square Gardens, plopped rather inelegantly on the nearest bench his body could find.

 

DN - SH

RSG - SH

I'm fully aware of how pissed you are with me at the moment, but - SH

Please come. - SH

 

Sherlock tossed his phone after a minute of silence, no response, but remained seated for an inordinate amount of time.

The man's senses perked up instantly, hearing the sluggish gait he knew too well. John was tired. John had been asleep. Sherlock had pried him away from yet another girl, playing (being, more like,) the role of Damsel in Distress to a T.

 

John bent over, the flashlight app glaring downward at his feet, as he picked up Sherlock's earlier discarded mobile. "Well, that makes more sense." He murmured.

 

"I'm exhausted. I almost walked into the road. Twice." John sighed, resigned, taking a seat beside his friend. He offered a silent here, holding the phone out to Sherlock on is left. "It rained earlier- you're lucky if it's not ruined."

 

Sherlock took the cellular phone and blinked at the glowing screen.

1:06 AM

 

4 Missed Calls: John Watson

11 Unread Texts

 

Wat ?? 11:32

OMW 11:34

Sherlock where are you ? 12:01

This park isn't exactly small y'know 12:17

Fine, I'll go searching then 12:17

I just walked in on some teens dry humping Marvelous 12:34

I saw a shadow behind the brush and thought the worst but nope just horny kids 12:47

Thank God 12:47

Sherlock answer your bloody phone and tell me where you are 12:59

Sherlock where the hell 1:04

Oh I see you 1:04

 

John watched quietly, and secretly embarrassed, as Sherlock scrolled through his texts. After the taller of the two locked and pocketed the mobile, the silence rang on. Not one for waiting, John figured Sherlock would pipe up and explain why it was a Danger Night, but not explanation came.

 

"Well, I don't see any blood, so unless you washed up beforehand, there hasn't been a murder." John tried for a smile but it felt a bit like plastic.

 

"Murder by me." A quiet, hoarse clarification.

 

"That was the joke, yeah." John tried to respond quickly, lest to show he noticed the crack in his friend's voice. "Poor one, I suppose."

 

Something occurred to John, sitting in the quiet, so he perked up. "Why here?"

 

"It's where this first began." Said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

 

John made a poor attempt at withholding a pleased smirk; _not a romantic, my arse._

 

"I know. I was just wondering, of all places, why pick here? Why tonight?"

 

"It's where my legs took me. I haven't the slightest idea as to why." Sherlock frowned, his brow furrowing; his own answer bit at him, the thought of not knowing.

 

"Fair enough. I do things without really knowing why I've up and done them all the time."

 

"Like putting up with me?"

 

"Like putting up with you, exactly." There was a prominent grin in John's voice. For good measure, he elbowed his best friend's ribs, their forearms brushing in the movement. "Erm, what's that there, in your pocket?"

 

The response was that of a deadpan glare. "Take a wild guess."

 

"Already have, and you know it." John frowned, upset that he didn't know the protocol on dealing with recovering addicts; sure, he'd read up on it, loads, but in practice, it seemed surreal and impossible. "May I, erm, see it?" Protocol, protocol! Not once did any selection say: ask your mate if you can take a peek at his drug supply.

 

Sherlock looked almost stunned for a microsecond, eyes widening a fraction and returning to normal not a moment later. The taller boy shrugged and reached into the inner pocket of his Belstaff, retrieving a slim, red velvet box. It was beautiful, vintage in taste, seeming to smell perpetually of cigars and brandy.

 

John held it in both hands, weighing it, feeling the liquid inside trying to find equilibrium before he rocked the case again. He didn't dare open it. He was already pushing his luck and didn't want Sherlock to pull away further, recede inside himself like he did, disappear.

John looked up, away from the case, at his friend. "So, what did you do?"

 

"Nothing."

 

"I can assume as much, yeah. I meant, why didn't you? What made you stop?"

 

"I… couldn't go through with it. I wanted to. Needed to. But, I didn't." Sherlock shook his hanging head. "I didn't care about anything- anything else."

 

John's hand found itself rubbing Sherlock back, disturbing the line of vertebrae protruding outward. "Hey, hey, it's alright."

 

"No, it's not. It's can't be." He sat up, John's hand stayed in place as he ran his through his curls. "I lost control. I couldn't think of anything besides it. All I could see was the needle piercing my skin. The anticipation of euphoria. Escape. Fuck." He let his head hang on his neck once more. "It's too deep. They were all right."

 

"They?"

 

"They, they, they. Everyone! They were all right! That I would die much before forty. That I'm some kind of freak. That I can’t control myself-- that I had deluded myself into thinking I could stop if I wanted."

 

"You can, Sherlock."

 

"Oh? Then what's this?"

 

"You. Stopping." John's hand gripped at the fabric of Sherlock's coat. "Sherlock, those people, they were the wrong ones. The fact that you're here is proof of that. You are in control."

 

"But I wasn't."

 

"You stopped. That's what matters." John's hand relaxed and began rubbing in circles; it reminded him of when he comforted Harry during her breakups all those years ago. "You reached out. And I get how difficult that must've been for you, but you did it anyway." John sighed a light laugh through his nose before speaking. "I don't want to get all cheese on you, but I'm really proud of you. Really."

 

"Too much."

 

"Yeah, I figured as much."

 

Sherlock's way of joking and John's way of joking right back.

 

"Come on, let's go home."

 

Sherlock blinked once, twice; _Home?_

 

"The walk back to 221 is quicker this way, yeah?" John stood, pocketing the case and cocking his head to the right.

 

Sherlock stood alongside him, offering a curt nod.

 

"Which is it? Bed or couch?"

 

"I don't think the two of us could both comfortably kip on the couch." The detective spoke before realizing his error.

 

"Oh, I think you'd be surprised." John countered, always surprising his friend. "Bed it is."

 

John took out his mobile and shot a quick text, frowning at the response.

 

"Your brother is an idiot."

 

"No arguments here."

 

After a pause, John met Sherlock's hooded eyes. "A walk will be good."

 

"A walk will be good."

 

Later that night John excused himself from the flat, setting down his tea. Sherlock watched from the window as an unmarked car pulled up outside 221B. Watched as John spoke, handing the case to Mycroft and waiting until the velvet box was returned to him. He glanced up at the window where Sherlock was perched and smiled, making his way back inside.

 

"A reminder?" He held out the empty case to his detective.

 

"A reminder." Sherlock nodded at his blogger and put the case in a drawer amongst papers and other bobbles.

 

"Now that that's settled…" John grinned, taking Sherlock's hand. "Let's call it a night."

 

"Bed?"

 

"Yeah, bed."


End file.
